Ashes to Ashes
by WeAreAllStoriesInTheEnd
Summary: To keep the company alive, Carmichael Industries takes on a sketchy case to prevent the robbery of a priceless artifact. Little do they know, the thief isn't exactly human. Yes, this is a vampire fic. S5 AU!
1. Ashes to Ashes

**An:** So, since Halloween is almost upon us (at least to those who celebrate it), I thought it'd be fun to get in the spirit of things and write a darker Chuck story! It was originally supposed to be a multi-chapter tale, but I decided to shorten it a bit; making each installment sort of a drabble if you will. Hopefully everyone can read and enjoy…or not enjoy, at their leisure. Don't worry about the open-endedness. Everything will fall into place in the next few chapters, I promise!

Review if you'd like :)

Have a Happy Halloween folks!

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><p>I never imagined that this is how I was going to die.<p>

Killed by the one I love.

My husband.

Chuck has me pinned down. He's so strong now, fingernails digging into my shoulders, holding me in place. I extend an arm for the machete, but it's just out of reach. My frustration is terribly evident. I begin to thrash wildly. Bound together by anger and fear, a scream of desperation rips from my throat.

I cry. "Chuck, please stop!"

He looms over me, his gaze flickering to mine. His eyes are blood red. They're burning brightly, hungrily. His lips curl and I can see his fangs poking from the roof of his mouth. When he growls, it's inhuman and feral. Out of control. It's everything that Chuck is not. I've lost him among the carnage; bodies strewn everywhere in sight, plentiful and dead. The cut on my wrist is thick and still leaks fresh. How can a single drop of blood cause so much trouble, I wonder.

A pair of eyes watches us gleefully from afar. Laughter then suddenly echoes throughout the room. It's cold, heartless, and hollow. The terrifying sound goads Chuck further into his crazed state; bearing down on me with all his weight till he takes a vicious snap for my neck.

He misses.

Barely.

I see an opening and take it. Delivering a swift knee to his stomach, Chuck's breath catches and he caves momentarily. With one hand over his mouth, I use the other to reclaim machete. I'm praying that Casey and Morgan will arrive soon, come to my rescue. To our rescue. Chuck needs as much saving as I do. Nothing fills me with more dread than the thought of killing him to save myself. I don't think, no I _know _that if it comes to it, I won't be able to go through with it. But I don't blame Chuck for any of this.

He's not in control.

He doesn't know what he's doing.

_God, please no…_

It takes a lot to make me lose my composure, but this is enough reason to make anyone cry. My eyes feel wet and tears leak down my bloodstained face. I plead. "Chuck, don't make me do this! I don't want to do this…"

Chuck lifts his head slightly. He sees that I'm wielding the machete with the intent of using it. There's a glimmer of clarity that materializes in his eyes, the red veil blinding him with bloodlust, receding into that familiar shade of chocolate brown I have fallen so deeply in love for.

"I—I can't stop," he whispers. I can hear the anguish in his voice, the choked sob that wrecks his entire body. Chuck bows forward again, burying his face into the crook of my neck. I am too late to react. Petrified, I wait for the tearing of flesh and the hot blood to pour from my gaping wound.

Hopefully it will be quick, painless. Maybe even romantic, in a tragic sort of way. Star-crossed lovers doomed to die at each other's hand. To inevitably be reborn into something awful and undead. If that means I will spend an eternity with Chuck, then it can't be all bad. Those stupid vampire flicks made it seem tolerable.

Forever in love.

"Chuck, I love you no matter what."

He goes rigid, then lax with acceptance. I feel his hot breath ghost against my skin, the tips of his fangs resting on a pulse point. He's poised to attack. But will he take the plunge? I do not know what to expect, but whatever happens, I'll always forgive Charles Irving Bartowski.

I close my eyes and brace myself as I wait for the end, if the end ever comes.

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><p><strong>An: <strong>Next installment will focus on the past making its way to the present. Sorry if this confused anyone, and I chose to write it in Sarah's POV because i'm already pretty used to it by now, and most vampire stories are featured in the female protagonist's perspective. Isn't it?


	2. Night at the Museum

**An: **I amended my pervious statement about making this a condensed one-shot. It'll be a full-fledged multi-chapter fic. Probably around five chapters in all, and updated once a day till the grand finale is released on Halloween!

I hope you enjoy the latest installment.

Here be vampires!

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

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><p><em>Three Days Earlier…<em>

Her name is Abbey Dandridge. Although it'd be safe to assume that it is just an alias. Not much is known about her, or her real identity. According to the Intersect, she's a thief—elusive, cunning, and notorious for stealing medieval artifacts in the dead of night. Her recent jobs have occurred mostly at high profiled museums or other historical sites around the world. While she has been spotted on tape, security proved unable to find any trace of her existence after the heist took place. It is remarkable how she keeps eluding capture. And I can't try to hide my curiosity. It's only natural as a spy and former conartist to want to figure out her dirty little secret.

But skepticism quickly replaces my intrigue. Our client, Arthur Harker, has shown to be just as shady as our mysterious thief. He divulges no real information that we haven't already gathered thanks to Morgan. His motive for the arrest is vague at best. I often wonder why we even decided to take on this case. Then again, my loving husband likes to constantly remind me of our financial hardships. Like I can ever forget that our bank account that's worth of $42 million has been frozen by the CIA.

"We're almost bankrupt," Chuck explains matter-of-factly during our flight to Louisiana. Apparently there's a new exhibit going on at the New Orleans museum. The main attraction is the flaming sword of John the Revelator; the man who wrote the book of Revelation. Harker is convinced that she'll be there on the night before the grand opening. The circumstances appear sketchy, but we're desperate for money. Carmichael Industries will go belly up if there's no revenue to stimulate it.

Casey rolls his eyes and mutters a sarcastic reply. "Thanks for the news flash."

I give Chuck a reassuring smile before he sighs and continues. "I know we're struggling to make ends meet right now, and this case doesn't look to be exactly kosher, but let's stay optimistic here. Who knows, maybe this will be our big break?"

Nobody says anything for awhile. Morgan focuses his efforts by munching on freshly catered shrimp. Casey simply shakes his head in dismay, grumbling about how he hates moral ambiguity. Meanwhile Chuck slumps in his seat, looking positively worn out and defeated. I squeeze his hand while he stares absently out of the window.

"We're going to get through this," I tell him in my most convincing tone and almost believe it myself. "We always do."

Chuck casts a weary glance that has become so typical of him during these grim days. When no one else is watching, he falls apart. I almost don't hear him as he shies away, mumbling with eyes closed:

"You could've fooled me."

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><p>After we land, the next few hours are dedicated to setting up our trap. First, we took care of the guards so we could pose as security working the graveyard shift. The display is now under heavy surveillance; tiny cameras nestled in each corner, making sure to catch movement at every angle. An alarm system is hooked up and will wail the instant something foreign trips the lasers or other invisible wires. Last but not least, our client had the decency to supply us with a duplicate of the sword.<p>

The plan is to split-up and complete our respective rounds throughout the entire museum. That way we can cover every inch available. Each of us will wear what Chuck and Morgan affectionately have dubbed "watchie-talkies," to facilitate communication in case of trouble. It's dusk now, and the sun is dipping behind the hillside. At twilight we'll begin circumventing the building.

"En garde!" Morgan shouts, drawing the rusted sword out of his fake sheath. He points the tip at Casey, who glares in silent rage. He swipes the weapon from the smaller man's grasp and holds it above his head.

"The last thing we need is for you to flash and accidentally stab somebody," he grunts.

"Yee of little faith, Case," says Morgan as he jumps to recapture the replicate sword. He isn't even within reach. Chuck and I trade amused glances, and I smile knowing that at least something can brighten his mood.

"You lost all faith the moment you broke that vase, Grimes."

He hops again. "I said I was sorry!"

"Sorry won't bring back over six million dollars!"

"It's not like it matters," says Morgan. "Breaking the vase was how we got that mission anyways."

"And lost over $42 million dollars," grunts Casey.

I notice that Chuck has been glancing at his watch periodically. His brows furrow in deep concentration which prompts me to check the time as well. It's almost seven in the evening. I look up and see that he's now fixed with the ceiling pane made up entirely of glass. The sky is black with increments of moonlight filtering down below to where we presently stand.

"The reports say that she'll be here anywhere from midnight to dawn," announces Chuck. The rest of us give our fearless leader full undivided attention. He adds, "Just be vigilant, stay alert and nothing will go wrong."

Morgan gasps. "Dude, what happened to the cardinal rule? One must never under any circumstances say that 'nothing will go wrong.' You're going to jinx the mish!"

Casey growls irritably. "Quit being so superstitious, and don't ever call a mission a _mish _ever again."

I know that this is going to escalate into an argument that the world could do without. This needs to stop before somebody gets a bullet in the brain, or a sword through the heart.

Sighing, I address each one of my boys individually. "Morgan, you are done talking until given permission otherwise. Casey, put the sword away. And Chuck, honey, you're doing fine."

The three of them stare at me, each with a different expression on their face. Morgan looks crestfallen. Casey puts up an emotionless mask. Meanwhile Chuck gives me a grateful smile that speaks volumes. He mouths "I love you," before the team breaks apart to go about their separate duties.

As I am left alone to my musings, there is only one thing I cannot stop thinking about for the life of me. How incredibly sad is it to know that out of the four of us, I am the unlikely voice of reason?

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><p>Nothing good ever happens after two in the morning.<p>

We've been at it for hours and still come up short. The thief, Abbey Dandridge remains elusive. After scouring the museum with a fine tooth comb, she is nowhere to be seen. Her lack of presence is unsettling. It kind of makes a person wonder if they've been had.

It is my turn to guard the display. I keep watch with my droopy eyes though there is nothing to be seen of any significance. My feet feel like lead. A tiny yawn escapes me before realizing that I almost nodded off. Not too long ago stake-outs used to be a piece of cake. Now it's like pulling teeth just to stay awake.

I inwardly groan. _The perils of being a domesticated spy…_

I hear footsteps from afar. They're heavy so it must belong to either Casey or Chuck. I'm betting on the former. At least somebody is keeping vigilant. If the Colonel can hide in the rat holes of Costa Gravas for weeks undetected, guarding a fake priceless artifact must be a breeze for him. It used to be for me.

"Guys, I'm crashing," comes Morgan's voice from my watch. I roll my eyes and yawn again. "Those three energy drinks I had earlier are wearing off…"

Casey cut in: "Who the hell let you have an energy drink?"

"Energy drinks_, _Casey. That's plural."

"Don't correct me, now answer the question! We let you have shrimp, where did you get the energy drinks before we took off out of Burbank?"

"I brought them from the apartment, man," admits Morgan. "I have a full stock of them in the fridge…daddy needs his caffeine fix."

Their constant bickering makes me appreciate what I have with Chuck. There are hardly any petty arguments. And if we do fight, it always ends up in make-up sex.

My brain is so delirious from lack of sleep that it strays to the last time we had a major blow-out. I may have purposely instigated it, but Chuck was none the wiser. Just thinking about anger flaring in his eyes as he pinned me against the kitchen counter…

I shiver.

"—Morgan, remind me to never let you indulge in sugar ever again."

This time it's Chuck. I shake myself out of my fantasies and realize that I have been daydreaming for nearly ten minutes. All the while Casey and Morgan managed to keep their conversation alive before Chuck had to intervene.

"How about not wasting cash on shrimp?"

They snigger.

"There's an idea," says Chuck. "And while we're at it, no more grape soda."

I chuckle silently while the watches explode with a cacophony of laughter and cries of protest.

Morgan whines. "That's not fair!"

As I finish my roundabout, an odd tingle passes through me. I stop and plant my feet. Exhaling, a puff of smoke materializes in the air. The temperature suddenly drops and it's freezing. Unless the thermostat had been messed with, why would it be so cold in the Deep South during October?

_Weird, _I think.

"Did any of you guys feel that?" I speak into my watch, teeth chattering.

There is a short pause.

"No, what are we supposed to be feeling?"

I don't realize who spoke. My eyes widen and I draw the gun that's hidden in the small of my back once I see a figure dart across the hallway. Suddenly I am not so cold anymore.

"I think I just saw her," I whisper.

I hear a collective sigh of relief. "Finally!" the trio exclaims simultaneously.

Snorting, I pursue who I imagine to be none other than our very own Abbey Dandridge. For awhile, no one speaks. I'm sure they're all focusing on apprehending the thief. At least I hope so. There's a strange feeling that wells up inside me. Like something is about to go horribly wrong…

I turn a corner and a black mass stands a few paces in front of me. It is definitely not my boys. Slowly I make my approach with soft footfalls as I near the figure. I pause only when it shifts and even in the dim lighting, I see a pair of red dots floating in suspended darkness.

"Hey!" I shout to catch its attention. But it's too late as the red lasers rush towards me at a blinding speed and suddenly, I feel a burst of pain in my left hand. It felt like razor sharp claws dug into my flesh. I'm bleeding freely, and the wound drips onto the tile floor in massive drops.

"Sarah, talk to me!" Chuck shouts and there's no question that he abandoned his post. I can hear him rushing towards me. "What happened? Are you hurt? Say something so I know you're ok!"

My injured arm drops uselessly. "I am fine, just hurry up and don't let her get away!" I yell to alert everyone of the thief's presence. That was her. It had to be.

I wait impatiently for Chuck, Casey, or Morgan to arrive. But no one comes. The sound of footsteps has faded as well. Confused, I decide to return to the display which is where everyone would be if the thief had made it far.

I call out. "Chuck?"

No answer.

"Chuck!"

When I arrive back to the main room, I stop dead in my tracks. My jaw drops, and the pain in my arm dulls to a throb. By the glow of the moon, it illuminates the area like it was a giant spotlight. Chuck is at the center with another. It's her. Abbey Dandridge. The thief. She is using my husband as a shield.

I make a cautious approach with my gun aimed level. She doesn't flinch in the slightest, even when I see both Casey and Morgan arrive by me on either side. Their guns drawn as well.

She smiles wickedly and speaks with a drawl. "You know, pointing those nasty things at somebody helpless like me is quite rude. It gives the wrong idea, like maybe you're here to kill me. What happened to talking like civilized human beings?"

"How about you let him go and we'll talk?" I suggest.

"Sorry, but no dice," says the thief. She hugs Chuck tighter. "I know if I let go of my only leverage, you'll shoot me dead. Not like that'll do you any good, but why waste a bullet and make a mess you'll end up regretting?"

Chuck meets my eyes, and I see him looking distinctly startled at the expression on my face. He makes the subtle shake of his head, like he's trying to warn me against pulling the trigger. Why would he do that? He and I both know I have a great shot. I won't miss.

"If I let you take the sword and leave this place alive, will you release him?" I ask after a few moment of silence.

Casey and Morgan are beside themselves. "No!" They both shout.

I ignore them. "So, what's it going to be?"

She looks thoughtful. "Diplomacy won't work this time, not when I know that the sword is a fake."

How does she know that?

Now she gently lifts a hand to Chuck, caressing him with delicate fingertips. I see his eyes become hall-lidded like he's overcome by a trance. He sways in her embrace which effectively gets my blood boiling.

"But it's alright, I'll find the real deal when the mood strikes," she continues with a purr. "I think handsome here is the perfect replacement for some old rusted sword."

My eyes flash. "Let him go!"

The thief plays Chuck like he's a puppet with strings. She angles his neck to where his jugular is exposed to all of us. Her lips skim along his throat in a teasing fashion and I make a daunting step forward.

"Don't you touch him!"

She pauses and a knowing smile plays on her lips. Her gaze fixes on my injured arms, cooing. "Oh you two are married! Isn't that precious? Such a shame really…"

"Why?" I snap angrily.

"Well, it'll be such a shame to make you a widow."

Before I can react, she brings her mouth to Chuck and sinks her teeth into his neck. I am paralyzed with shock, watching in horror as this scene unfolds before my eyes. She bit him. She _bit _Chuck. I hear Casey curse aloud and it's enough to snap me from my stupor. The three of us rush towards the thief, who pulls away from Chuck and lets him collapse to the tile floor in a heap.

"Grimes, you're with me!" Commands Casey gruffly. He shoots me a quick look. "You stay with Bartowski."

I don't object. The two of them rush after that cannibal bitch while I tend to my husband. I slide onto my knees and find Chuck lying in a pool of his own blood. He is unnaturally still. His skin is pale. His eyes sagging with that glazed over look.

He's dying.

"Chuck, honey please stay with me." I beg in a wavering voice. "You're going to be fine if you just keep your eyes open. Don't go to sleep."

His throat has been torn apart. Each labored breath expels copious amounts of blood from the wound. I apply as much pressure as I can without causing him more pain. Unbeknownst to me, I'm already losing my composure. Tears race down the sides of my face and I try to keep Chuck alive.

"Sarah…" he croaks.

I lift my head and stare at him. God, his eyes are so bright. "Yeah baby?"

He smiles weakly. "I always wanted to meet a cannibal, but that…I wasn't expecting her to actually try and eat me." When he laughs at his lame joke, there's even more blood. So much blood.

"Keep talking, Chuck."

"I...can't." He whispers. "Too tired…"

"No!" I shout and place him in my lap, rocking his body slowly. "Don't you dare go to sleep!" He doesn't respond and his eyelids flutter closed. "Chuck, please, no, no, no, no!"

His breath slows until the steady rise and fall of his chest ceases completely. He feels suddenly so very light to me. The half smile plastered to his face says enough and I can no longer see him though the tears or as a sob renders me speechless.

He's gone.

I don't recognize how long I've been sitting in the pool of blood, cradling Chuck's body to my chest as I weep uncontrollably. But at some point, Casey and Morgan return with bad news: Abbey Dandridge has gotten away.

They soon come to realize there are much worse news then a botched mission. Morgan has fallen to his knees with both hands over his mouth to keep from crying. He's fighting a losing battle and I hear him make a strangled noise, voice cracking as he whispers Chuck's name over and over again.

Casey, ever the calm one, hoists Morgan to his feet and then comes to me next. He tries prying me from Chuck, but it takes double the effort to get us separated. My arms remain outstretched in a vain attempt to reach for him. The slash on my wrist drips bloody drops; mixing with Chuck's spilt all over the floor.

I am in hysterics, screaming. "Casey, let go of me!"

"It's over, Sarah." He tries to coax me back to reality but I won't budge. Chuck is lying there so alone. He needs me. "It's over…"

I wriggle from Casey's grasp and reach towards Chuck with and outstretched hand. He remains put, but I swear I saw movement in his face. His nose. It twitched. Once. Twice. Three times. It can't be my mind playing tricks on me.

It's real.

Chuck's alive.

I hover over him with both of my hands cupping his face. Tearfully, I croak. "Chuck, wake up. Please, just wake up."

Morgan whimpers. "Sarah, don't do this."

Casey agrees solemnly. "Let him go, it's over—"

He doesn't get the chance to finish. I've been concentrating on Chuck for so long that I am the first to notice his eyes snap wide open. But all of us watch in complete shock as he lunges forward and takes my wrist into his mouth. I am still too emotionally numb to feel any pain, so I don't acknowledge the fact that he's sucking the blood out of my wound. Nor do I seem to realize that his eyes weren't their normal warm shade of brown.

They're red.

I am so lost in the joy of Chuck being alive that the fact that he didn't come back exactly right has no effect on me. I remain hunched over as he continues to suckle hungrily on my wrist like a newborn child.

Eventually, Chuck gets his fill and stops. He unceremoniously pulls away from my arm and lets it fall limp. Lifting his head slowly, he meets our unexpected looks of awe and terror with ones of blatant confusion.

Crimson eyes blink several times before he musters a bloody, tentative smile. "Guys, why are looking at me like that? You're kind of freaking me out."

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><p><strong>An: <strong>Yeah, this was longer than expected. The next few chapters will be shorter, but don't quote me on that. I have a habit of misjudging these sorts of things. Next chapter will be up sometimes tomorrow on Chuck-day!


	3. The Hopeless Case of a Spy in Denial

**An: **Ok, so I previously mentioned that'd I update this story once a day, but last night was a no-go purely because it was Nevada Day and Chuck Day. That's a holiday for me, where I watch my favorite television show, then proceed to party for the entire night. That's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it.

We're just one step closer to the climactic end of this vampirific tale. It's a bit tinier then chapter 2, but these were meant to kind of be on the shorter side.

Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

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><p>The idea of Chuck being a vampire is simply one too ridiculous to conceive. It'd been the first thing cried out—by whom else but Morgan, the instant Chuck satisfied his appetite with my blood. The almost sickeningly innocent smile he gave us runs through my brain on an endless cycle. I can't seem to make it stop. It reminds of Abbey Dandridge. What she had done to Chuck. What she had done to me. My wound. Chuck had stopped the bleeding, draining the cut dry. It is now bandaged, only burning when I think back to moments earlier.<p>

Back to when Chuck died.

I shiver.

My eyes are settled up front and I am determined to ignore him. Casey forced the distance upon us. He said I was too emotional to handle being near my husband. That I couldn't handle it. That I should get some sleep. But sleep is impossible. There's so much static keeping me awake. Both in my head and elsewhere. And Chuck isn't helping at all. He is persistent to grab my attention by any means. I can hear his constant struggle; wriggling around restless in his chair while the bindings keep him strapped firmly in place. At some point he lets out an inhuman growl of frustration, effectively breaking my resolve. With a deep sigh, I finally turn around.

Chuck is fastened in the seat two rows behind me in our private jet. Morgan and Casey sit beside him on opposite ends. While Casey keeps a tranq pistol handy (I'm positive that it'll be useless), Morgan is hunched over a laptop. He has torn himself away from the mass hysteria caused by Chuck's sudden death and even more surprising revival. Now it is the thousands of results dedicated to theories of vampirism that attracts him. The jet has been uncomfortably quiet since we hastily abandoned New Orleans. For good reason considering what just happened. All of us are lost in deep thought. Our minds are left scrambling to rationalize what our eyes had just seen but chose to disbelieve. Meanwhile Chuck continues to squirm and even gnaw at the straps with his teeth. I feel a pitiful stab at my heart once realizing he hasn't quit moving since we took off over an hour ago. I feel even worse because it is unlikely he'll ever quit until somebody either frees or knocks him unconscious.

He huffs again and this time it sounds almost human. I don't want to appear rude, diverting his focus like this, but he needs the distraction. As do I. Clearing my throat has the desired effect. Chuck perks up instantly, and looks at me with bloody eyes.

"Is this really necessary?" Chuck asks, panting unusually hard. "What's the point of tying me up…I mean, guys, it's me!" He tries to appease with a shaky laugh. "Don't you trust me?"

Casey's grip on the pistol falters when he grunts, conflicted. Morgan glances at his best friend with a sympathetic look before returning to his research. And I am caught in the crossfire with Chuck eagerly waiting for me to come to his aid. He waits for a response and frowns disappointedly when I give nothing away. There's an instant where I seriously consider releasing him. The idea comes as I am caught staring helplessly at his ruby gaze. A chorus of foreign voices invades my mind and sings harmoniously, overwhelmingly. He wants freedom. He wants out. He wants me. Chuck tells me all of this wordlessly, yet I understand him perfectly. But I resist whatever power he has over me and fidget with my wedding band instead.

"Hey, I think I found something!" Morgan's relieved voice booms throughout the cabin only an instant later.

The standoff between Chuck and I ends abruptly. Thank god. We break eye contact and that strange intrusion of the mind fades. I regain control and direct my efforts to Morgan, whose gaze is still riveted to the laptop screen.

"Does it have anything to do with vampires?" Casey growls with annoyance. "Because if I have to listen to that fairy tale bullshit one more time—"

"Of course it has to do with vampires," says Morgan. "Chuck _is _a vampire."

"That's ridiculous."

Morgan shoots him a glare. "Why is it ridiculous, Casey? Chuck was bit by some lady-thief who has never ever been caught in over a decade! When I zoomed, the Intersect showed me footage of some of Abbey Dandridge's past conquests. She is a freaking ghost. And did you see her teeth? They were fangs, no question about that. The wound on Chuck's neck proves that…"

"What wound are you talking about?" asks Chuck. He is able to cock his head and show that besides dried blood, there is no trace of injury. "Like I said, I'm fine. I don't know what you _think _you saw, buddy, but I wasn't bit."

"Then how do you explain your eyes?" I interject in a hushed whisper, though a sudden urge to scream at Chuck bubbles to the surface. And so my voice grows louder, fiercer with each accusation. "Or how about when you died in my arms? Or maybe when you blatantly started sucking my blood like a—!"

Chuck visibly winces when he begs. "Don't say it!"

Morgan is dumfounded. "Why not? Sarah's right. She just made a lot of valid points that are indisputable. Casey can't even argue against it and neither can you. So what's the point of living in denial? We need to all be on the same page to figure this out, right?"

"There's no such thing as vampires…" mumbles Chuck.

"Dude, you're so full of it."

Chuck sets his jaw and doesn't speak. I note the subtle fear weighing in his countenance. Actually, it isn't subtle at all. On the contrary, he looks downright terrified. Like he knows that Morgan is right about him being…a vampire. Even if the facts are there, I can't make myself embrace the idea that my husband is what? A monster? I know I'll come around eventually, as will Casey, but this _is _ridiculous.

"I don't get why it's so hard to believe," Morgan continues on in the same incredulous tone. He is standing now with his arms outstretched, expecting for someone to offer a counter argument. Nobody does and he sighs. "Look, we all saw what happened to Chuck. The bite marks might've healed already, but I'll bet there's a scar. So far all we know for sure is that something is wrong with him. Drinking blood isn't exactly normal behavior for a human being, is it?"

Casey nods. "What do you suppose we do then?"

"Well, I mean, we'll be back to Burbank within the hour. Then we can get Chuck to Castle and figure it out from there. Run some diagnostics, check if his heart is even still beating."

Chuck rolls his eyes. "I'm alive, Morgan. I can feel my heart beating just fine, and I'm breathing on my own too. Do you want to check my pulse, because I can assure you I'm just peachy."

"What if it's not your heart beating, but everyone else's, and you can hear them? You're breathing out of habit. It's normally an involuntary action. I bet you could stop breathing right now and be totally functional."

"So that's it, huh?" says Chuck. He is staring directly at me again. Hurt shining in his eyes. Pain evident in his voice. "We're all positive that I'm a vampire just because Mr. Intersect said so?"

_Oh, Chuck. _I think sadly.

Morgan does a comically fast double take before slamming the laptop shut. Casey just shakes his head. Rather than appearing irritated, he's just exhausted. Fatigue is catching up to all of us. All of us but Chuck.

"Man, are you being serious right now?" Morgan exclaims. "You're having Intersect-withdrawals and blaming it on me? At a time like this? We shouldn't even be thinking about the Intersect or hell, even the company. You're top priority. Sarah and Casey will be more than willing to back me up on that. And if we can get you back to normal, then I'll find a way to give you the stupid thing back!"

I watch helplessly as Morgan approaches Chuck with purpose. A weird feeling sneaks upon me as the two close the distance between each other. Or rather, Morgan does. It makes me feel sick because somehow I suspect what exactly will happen next. Though there is no way to avoid it now.

Morgan lays a hand on Chuck's neck. "See!" He shouts and then points to the bloodied wound. What used to be a gaping lesion has been replaced with two puncture marks in his flesh. While Morgan continues to prod, I see Chuck barring his teeth. A deep rumbling comes from the back of his throat, a preemptive warning for things to come if he is continuously provoked.

Anyone who's had a run-in before with an attack dog knows this is clearly a dangerous sign. Don't mess with it. Don't provoke it. Don't feed the beast. It will rip you to shreds.

My eyes grow wide in alarm, and I leap to my feet. "Morgan, stop it now!"

As the words slip from my mouth, I am already too late. In a flash, Chuck rips from the bindings and has Morgan pinned on the ground. The plane shakes with turbulence which makes it impossible for Casey or me to act immediately. Chuck hangs above a writhing Morgan with his fangs protruding, long and menacing. When the rocking subsides, Casey stands up and fires a round of tranq darts at Chuck. All hit their designated target but as I suspected, Chuck is unaffected.

I take the missed opportunity to intervene, but I'm not too sure what I'll do once I separate the two of them. How will Chuck react when I defend Morgan's life before his own? He seems far from caring about anything other than tearing his prey apart. If anything, my interference will only anger him more for denying his hunger. Then he'll certainly be after me next.

Before I reach them, Morgan zooms and the Intersect kicks into gear. He manages to get a decent punch at Chuck's trachea, which alive or undead, still must hurt like hell. Chuck rolls off of Morgan and chokes for air that according to vampire lore, he shouldn't even need. As Morgan scrambles to his feet, a look of horror dons his face. Chuck holds himself up on all fours; body trembling as a sob wrecks through him. We all watch in complete stunned silence.

Recovering first, I slowly move towards Chuck like it's a dream. I fall onto my knees and without delay, reach out a hand to run through his hair and caress down the side of his face. My palm settles against his cheek, forcing him to lift his head and meet my gaze. His red eyes have dimmed into a dark crimson shade. In the right light it even looks reminiscent of his chocolate brown. The fear finally seems to have overpowered Chuck. I see no trace of denial, but bitter resentment and blatant dread for what he has become.

He mouths something that I cannot quite hear. I try reading his lips and realize that he's saying my name. I lean forward and sport my best reassuring smile.

"Chuck, I'm here. What is it? You can tell me anything."

When he speaks, it's a whisper:

"Sarah…I'm so hungry."

* * *

><p><strong>An:<strong> Dun. Dun. Dunnnn! Chuck's a-hungry. Told you this chapter was short. Last update was purely a fluke I think. Next chapter will have Chuck sating his hunger temporarily, Ellie will stop by to diagnose her little brother, and Sarah will get to see firsthand how her husband adapts to the changes he's undergone, which isn't entirely unpleasant mind you.

This story is also looking like it won't be done till after Halloween. Unless of course I decide to crank out two really long chapters and an epilogue. But I'm having too much fun with this, and I might stretch it out just a bit longer. :)


	4. How to Train Your Vampire

**An: **Andddd we're back on track! A new chapter everyday like I originally promised. I'd like to thank everyone who has reviewed this story, because in all actuality, I wasn't expecting much. This was supposed to be just an open ended one-shot, but the spirit of Halloween (and mentally picturing how *hot* Zachary Levi would be if he played a vampire) has got the best of me, dragging this horrifying tale out much longer than anticipated. No regrets. I haven't had this much fun writing a short story before. So again, thank you for reading!

I'd also want to preface this chapter by saying; I loathe the Twilight series/saga whatever. Sorry if you do, but if there's any mentioning of it, it'll be good natured bashing. The vampires in this story are a compilation of all of best candidates I've seen from TV, Movies, and Comics etc. So no sparkling.

Anyways, please enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

* * *

><p>We don't bother trying to tie up Chuck again. It's not like it did much good the first time around. For now he lies across a row of seats with his head resting in my lap instead. I lazily stroke his face and admire the way his translucent skin reflects off the moonlight filtering in from the cabin window. His complexion is a lot paler than I can remember. The usual California tan has all but faded completely. However a soft glow radiates off of him still. It's not sickly, but startling beautiful. Sort of like snow.<p>

The steady rise and fall of his chest tells me two things. He's finally beginning to calm down, and he's definitely alive. After his breakdown Chuck promptly collapsed. Too weak and powerless to overcome his hunger or other primal urges, he had simply given up. Fatigue thankfully overwhelmed him rather than the thirst to slaughter the rest of us. Now he's subdued and resting until we land in Burbank. From there we'll return to Castle. Then, of course i'm totally clueless.

I absently run my fingers through his dampened hair. Chuck appears to be enjoying it immensely; nuzzling against my palm as a pleased noise reverberates from his throat. The corners of his lips twitch into a content smile, and red eyes peer through their hooded gaze. They stare up at me in unmistakable awe. I stop for a moment or two, enrapt by the look he gives me. It's almost like yesterday's look. Or perhaps the one from the day before. But it's not quite the same. Something is missing. I see the genuine love, the undying affection, and the adoration. It's all there, but not.

"You smell amazing," Chuck whispers in an awe-filled tone that matches his current expression.

I smile faintly and ask. "Is that a good thing, or not?"

He shrugs. "Both."

"How so?"

Morgan glances up from the laptop when he hears us conversing again. I notice that he's a bit shaken up from the attack. He shoots me a worried look but that's it before returning once more to his research. Casey is sitting by beside him, silently providing support.

"…it's hard to explain," says Chuck.

"Well, do you want to suck my blood?" I joke, and his face darkens considerably. "Sorry, that was too soon wasn't it?"

"Don't joke about stuff like that."

I frown. "You're still hungry."

He nods. "I want—I _need_ it, Sarah. When I woke up, it was because I smelt it. Your blood. And it was good, really good. Salty but sweet, tasted like life."

I place a hand on my bandage. "Do you…want more?"

"No."

"Why not, Chuck? If you are," myy voice drops like i'm telling him a secret, "a vampire, you have to drink to survive. Isn't that how it goes?"

He closes his eyes and sighs. "I'm afraid that if do that...I will lose control. I know that I won't be able to stop this time, and putting my needs before your life is a selfish risk I'm not willing to take. You're my wife, Sarah. So I'll just find another way."

"Chuck's right," says Morgan from behind the computer. "The longer a vampire goes without feeding, the worse the cravings get. If you offer yourself to him, Sarah, he'll kill you."

"Then what are we supposed to do exactly?" I ask, annoyed. "Starve him to death? Sacrifice myself? Or hope to god that Chuck doesn't go on a killing spree when we get back home?"

"What about a blood bank?" Casey Interjects. "If we can nab enough donations, then it'll give Bartowski a temporary fix."

Chuck sits upright, shaking his head. "No, no way. I won't to steal blood from people who really need it."

Casey snorts. "Tough luck, everybody needs blood. And unless you have a better idea, we're sticking with this one."

"Call Ellie," he suggests. "There's plenty of blood packs at the hospital."

"What do we tell her?" Morgan asks warily. "That we mistakenly went chasing after a vampire who incidentally bit her brother? That'll go over smooth."

"Tell her I'm hurt," says Chuck. "I was wounded on a mission and there was no time to get medical attention. I need a blood transfusion or something. She'll help, I know it."

Morgan's unconvinced. "But she's Ellie, man! She will want to see you, run tests, and probably admit you to Westside."

"Let her," I say. Three heads turn to me in disbelief. "Ellie won't back down, so if we allow her to see Chuck, to diagnose him properly at Castle, then we can maybe see what we're dealing with. It's our best bet."

Nobody challenges my idea. Morgan concedes with a slight nod while Casey appears to be wholly indifferent to however we approach this. Chuck looks positively exhausted. He slumps over and I catch him in my arms. I gently lower him back to his rightful place in my lap. He stares up at me again, smiling appreciatively.

"Ellie's going to kill me," he yawns before drifting off.

Soon our pilot announces that we have arrived safely to Los Angeles. As the jet makes its final descent towards the private air landing strip, I bend forward and plant a chaste kiss on Chuck's parted lips. I taste remnants of my blood but pay no mind to it. It is salty and sweet, just how he described it.

It is life, but it is also Chuck.

* * *

><p><em>Slurp.<em>

Three A negative blood packs later and Ellie still cannot take her eyes off him. She had joined us at Castle almost the same time we returned back. Her shift at the hospital had just ended when Morgan made the call. He gave her the shortened version of the story. Basically, Chuck was hurt and needed a blood transfusion. This was more than enough incentive for the eldest Bartowski sibling to steal enough supplies and rush to meet us before dawn.

The moment she arrived, she was met by an overly eager Chuck. He must have smelt the blood stowed in her purse because I've never seen anybody move _that _fast. Chuck was a blur, ditching my side for Ellie, who wasn't expecting to be shoulder-checked to the ground. Nor did she anticipate being pounced on by her younger brother. Chuck's bloodlust was working overtime it seemed. Butt instead of trying to rip her apart like he had with Morgan, he left Ellie unscathed. All he wanted was the purse. Once he had it in his clutches, Chuck slinked beside me in an all so casual manner. Like he had not just attacked his own sister. After I picked my jaw up off from the floor, I gave my husband a reprimanding tug of the ear, before tearing the purse out of his grubby little pale hands.

I had taken everyone by surprise when I shouted: "Bad!" Then immediately realized how awkward it was to feel like i'd been scolding a puppy. It didn't help matters when Chuck visibly sulked, embarrassed at his poor behavior.

Now, over an hour has passed since then. Chuck has been forced to sit ("I'm not a dog!" he'd shout indignantly) while Ellie examines him. To get him under control, Morgan tamed the beast with a blood pack per the doctor's orders. He jammed a straw into the open pouch and we all watched in mild disgust as Chuck drank, drank, and drank some more. He drained every bag and wouldn't stop for anything, only speaking when he'd demand for another.

"We should cut him off," Casey says gruffly. Even he is blanching in contempt. "Is it possible to get blood overdose?"

I give a noncommittal shrug and turn my attention back to Chuck. He is spinning around in the swivel-chair. His mood a little too cheerful considering the seriousness of the situation. Meanwhile Ellie orders Morgan around to keep him still, sighing in exasperation when it proves to be an impossible feat.

Ellie shoots me a withering glance. "What is wrong with him besides the obvious?"

"He's regressing," I deadpan. "Maybe it's a side-effect of the bite?" _Or maybe he's just finally gone insane. _

"Well, can you please calm him down? I can't check his vitals if he's constantly moving."

I nod. "Sure."

When I approach Chuck, the chair makes a single rotation before stopping right in front of me. He notes my stern expression, and merely smiles in that adorable Chuck Bartowski way. It would've worked if not for the blood marring his face, or if the circumstances weren't so dire.

I tell him nicely: "Honey, you need to behave."

"I am," he replies innocently. If he bats his eyes, I swear I'll slap him. "Can I have another?"

"No," I shake my head and his face drops. "I know what you're trying to do, Chuck. It's not going to work on me."

He tilts his head. "What am I trying to do?"

"Seduce me with your vampire powers."

"Seduce with my…" he ponders this for a second, then grins. "Are you sure it's not working?"

"Not in the slightest."

"It almost did last time."

"Wait," I narrow my eyes suspiciously. "You _knew _about it?"

I hear someone ask. "What's going on?"

"Chuck tried to use his stupid vampire mind control on me back on the flight home," I reveal. Everyone turns to Chuck who looks positively smug. The audacity makes me either want to smack him or tear his clothes off. Not sure which is more tempting yet. "I thought you were adamant about not thinking you were a vampire, sweetheart?"

"I was, but…"

"But what?"

"I wasn't exactly in control." He shrugs. "It sort of just happened."

"Forcing me to free you doesn't sound like it's exactly accidental," I argue.

"It was an accident. Trust me if I had been actually _trying _to Jedi mind-trick you, it would've worked." Chuck admits this in a voice so seductive it would've singlehandedly shivered me out of my clothes and…

Wait.

He's doing it _again!_

"Charles Irving Bartowski!" I yell loudly and he smirks. "That's exactly what I was talking about!"

"If you give me more blood, I swear I'll stop."

"That doesn't teach you anything!" I shout, my anger flaring.

His eyes are getting wider and darker, though he remains unmoving in the chair. He's goading me on purpose. That manipulative jerk! Last time I checked, I didn't know that turning into a an overconfident jackass was part of the whole vampire transformation.

Before I lose my patience and wring his neck, Ellie intervenes. It's probably a good idea that she had. If I've learned anything about the way Chuck and I fight, it's that they usually escalate into that of the sexual nature pretty damn fast. Compromising positions are the last thing I want to worry about. As if I have enough to worry myself sick over.

"You two need to separate," my sister-in-law announces suddenly. Her motherly tone tears me from my thoughts and I obey, retreating a few paces backwards. Ellie directs her attention solely on her brother. "Chuck, you'll get more blood once I'm done with you, alright?"

Chuck nods enthusiastically.

While Ellie continues to check him over, I cross my arms and refuse to watch the cross-examination take place. Not because it is uninteresting. No. It's because I'm deathly afraid to make eye contact with Chuck again. If what he says is true, then he can invade my mind with ease. It's not fair that he can overpower me like that. He already had enough sway when he was human.

"He seems to be embracing his disability with open arms," Casey mutters under his breath. For someone who has been silent for the most part, he always manages to make a keen observation. Even Morgan tends to agree with the sentiment, as do I.

"I don't know what's gotten in to him," I say truthfully. "First he's in denial. Then he has a mental breakdown on the jet, almost killing Morgan in the process. Now, he's totally relaxed and content with it."

"That's the stages of grief," Morgan points out tiredly. "Chuck's in the acceptance phase."

I frown, perplexed. "It doesn't make any sense."

Casey grunts. "Who says that it has to?"

And at that, I am left absolutely speechless.

* * *

><p>"Open up wide, Chuck."<p>

Chuck rolls his eyes but complies anyways. Ellie is sure taking this well. She's calm, cool, and collected. Exactly how I am supposed to be. Yet I am still freaking out. Just keeping the panic better concealed this time. I watch quietly as Ellie stays fully enthralled by her brother's condition. For the last few minutes or so, she has finished most of her assessment. She took his vitals and tested his heartbeat. It's irregular but there. Finally, she is checking out his newly acquired fangs.

"They look like normal teeth to me," says Ellie in bewilderment. I suppose she was expecting something more. "His lateral incisors are the right length and everything."

"They're retractable," I inform her. "Whenever Chuck is near blood, they pop out."

Ellie nods and digs a hand into her purse. She jostles for a moment before pulling out the last blood pack. Chuck unconsciously leans forward in his seat, almost identical to how he "surprised" his sister earlier. He even licks his lips this time around, which of course sends delightful shivers up my spine.

"This should do the trick then," Ellie muses.

When she dangles the pouch of red liquid in front of Chuck's face, he starts to become increasingly restless. He pants and grips the sides of the chair like he's using every ounce of his self-control. It's a bit cruel to tease him like this, but it's in the name of science. Just as long as he doesn't give into the bloodlust again, and I'm sure this won't end badly. I hope.

"Ellie, be careful," I warn. Who knows if Chuck has developed a preference for preserved or fresh blood?

But to my great relief, he remains still. His canines, however, change. They elongate into two dagger-shaped fangs. Pointy, sharp and deadly. Satisfied, Ellie yanks the blood pack away which almost causes for Chuck to lose his balance and fall off the chair. He catches himself though. Pouting when he is denied his special treat.

Ellie feels sorry for him. I can read it in her face. "Don't worry, you can have it," she says and tosses the pack into his ready lap. Chuck digs in without restraint; tearing the pouch open and blood splatters everywhere. I gag and turn away to shield my displeasure.

Morgan somehow can stomach his best friend's change of diet. Keeping aloof, he asks curiously. "What's the prognosis, doctor?"

"Chuck has what the medical profession calls Porphyric Haemophilia," she explains and takes a seat at the conference table. The rest of us follow. I'm anticipating a lengthy explanation. So I listen intently. "It literally translates into Lover of Blood. This according to urban legends and folklore is the equivalent of what you know commonly as vampirism."

"So it's real then?" Morgan cuts in. "The disease?"

Ellie nods stiffly. "As of now, it's not officially a real condition. Most of the symptoms are unfounded and controversial. But I can tell you what I found about Chuck is fascinating."

"I wouldn't call it fascinating," I comment dryly. "Maybe horrific or surreal."

"From a medical standpoint, I will admit that it _is _fascinating, Sarah." Ellie says defensively. "But as Chuck's sister, I am absolutely terrified and I'm sure you are too."

I steal a quick glance at Chuck while she's lecturing me. He's covered in blood, dripping red like how he woke up from death's stupor only what? Four hours ago? I struggle to keep an emotionless façade but it's useless. I'm going to be sick again.

Ellie resumes where she left off: "But back to my prognosis. Chuck appears to have been, in the most sensible terms, poisoned. This woman who attacked him, when she bit Chuck, the fangs released a toxin into his bloodstream. It's still too early to figure what it is exactly, but it's deadly nonetheless. It has tainted Chuck's blood, turning his white blood cells against each other. This is the most logical explanation for why he feels the compulsive need to constantly feed on other's blood. It will replenish what has been corrupted and serve as a temporary fix by absorbing the nutrients required to keep him alive. The longer he abstains from feeding, the more likely it is that he'll eventually succumb to the poisoning and die." She pauses briefly, taking in the looks we're giving her. "Any questions so far?"

"I've got one," I say and she nods for me to go on. "When Chuck was bit, I felt him die. His heart stopped beating and the wound nearly exposed most of his throat. He told me what resuscitated him was the smell of my blood." I finish and raise my bandaged arm as proof.

"Think of it like this. Chuck was being infected by the poison, and to fight it off, his body went into shutdown. All of his vitals were probably nonexistent; brain function ceased and there was no pulse. Have you ever heard about extracting the toxin secreted by the blowfish?"

We all nod simultaneously.

"Well, this is exactly like that. It puts the victim into a near deathlike state until outside stimuli or a beta-blocker can reverse the effect. While Chuck's brain was offline, his body was still working to some degree. That means that your blood Sarah, it acted like some sort of epinephrine. It gave Chuck the burst of adrenaline to beat the poison, which also caused his more primal instincts to take over.

"But that's all I can really explain without getting into the mythos of vampirism. The discoloration of his eyes can be similar to if you'd suffer from kidney or liver failure. His pale skin tone is from his lack of nourishment and the sickness in general. But the fangs and his enhanced sense are a whole different story. It's either an act of God or Darwinism."

It takes a good while before all of this information sinks in. I absently begin to fiddle with my wedding band again before lifting my head and asking. "How do you know so much about vampires? This can't be too common of an illness."

It's Chuck who answers my question. "Ellie has been infatuated with strange diseases since before she decided to purse becoming a doctor. Vampirism was the most attractive out of all of them. Mostly because back then, she was obsessed with Anne Rice and any other vampire series she could get a hold of."

Ellie blushes fiercely.

"I remember that!" exclaims Morgan with a huge smile. "She always kept gushing over Lestat and when _Interview with a Vampire _came out in theaters, she was at the midnight showing. And you called _us _nerds!"

"At least she knows something," I try to change the subject and save Ellie from further embarrassment. "And I feel slightly less freaked out that my husband is a one of the walking dead."

"Good show," quips Morgan. "But according to El, Chuck's alive and kicking."

"That I am," says Chuck and I nearly jump when I find him hovering behind me. He settles both hands on either side of my shoulder and gives me a reassuring squeeze."I actually feel pretty awesome right now."

"That's the gallon of blood you just chugged," remarks Casey. "If there's such thing as a blood-induced hangover, you're going to be hating life later."

"Somehow I think that's unlikely."

"How long do you think you'll be ok before feeding again?" I ask Chuck, but mean for Ellie to answer.

She does. "The time limit is up in the air for now, but I'd estimate anywhere from an hour to a day."

Morgan's eyes widen. "Where are we supposed to get all that blood? There's no way we'll keep stealing it from the hospital or blood banks."

I chew on my bottom lip before suggesting. "What about me?"

Everyone turns to me and I feel Chuck grow tense. His nails dig into my shoulders and I wince. "What about you?" Ellie says.

"What if I give Chuck my blood? I mean, if he doesn't bite me, then I should be fine, right?"

"Sarah, we've been over this!" Chuck growls. "I won't risk it."

I whirl around and watch Chuck back off in surprise. My eyes flash with my convictions set ablaze. "What choice do we really have? If we can't find a cure for this, you're going to be stuck drinking blood for the rest of your life. You said it yourself; stealing blood from others is wrong. So the only other alternative I see is me allowing you to take mine willingly."

"But what if I lose control again?"

"You won't."

Chuck is astounded by my persistence to not let the topic drop. I see him looking across the table to his friends and sister for help. They give him nothing. He sighs in defeat. "Just know that if I ever hurt you, or hurt anybody because I don't have control, then it'd better to just kill me."

"Nobody is going to kill you, Chuck."

"I'll do it myself then," and he circumvents around the table, heading for the hallway. I begin standing up to stop him from leaving. "I can stab myself in the heart with a stake, or turn into dust if I were to _accidently_ go outside in broad daylight…"

Morgan corrects him. "The whole turning to dust in the sunlight is a myth, dude. I've read tons of variations where you either explode into ash, shrivel up, get a nasty sunburn, or sparkle."

I scrunch my face up and ask incredulously. "What sort of vampire sparkles?"

"You don't want to know," Morgan tells me quickly. "But that's beside the point. All of those options seem to be unlikely. The most realistic of them is that you'll get sunburned."

Chuck gives his best friend a bored stare, before continuing his exit. He waves his hand dismissively. "Whatever, guys. I'm too tired to argue right now, and I'd much rather catch a few winks than debate vampire lore with you."

I call out to him, worried. "Where are you going, Chuck?"

He doesn't turn around when he answers, "I'm going to lock myself up in a holding cell for the day. Try and sleep."

He's met with no objection and Chuck leaves us all behind without a second glance. The four of us exchange apprehensive looks, but utter not a word. This whole vampire business has every one of us discombobulated. Chuck is suffering especially. I can't imagine how he must be feeling; all of the ups and downs, the euphoria and the depression that follows. If he wasn't drinking blood, I'd assume Chuck had developed an extreme case of bipolar disorder.

I bury my face with both hands and think to myself. _What a terrible night this has been._

* * *

><p><strong>An: <strong>It is almost 2am and I'm about to die. Look what this story has done to me! This chapter has reached over 4,000 words. Ugh. I apologize for the crazy amount of dialogue and equally crazy explanation for vampirism. It needed to get out of the way before I continue on with the plot. Also, hope you enjoy the awesomeness that is bipolar/vampire Chuck. He's like an untrained puppy that has a fondness for blood-play and trolling.

Next chapter should be up tomorrow. Or is it today now? Ughx2. Anyways, it'll be about Chuck getting accustomed to his condition, and enjoying the nightlife when Sarah gives him recess from the dark depths of Castle.


	5. A Study In Crimson

**An: **I bet y'all are surprised I even updated this, huh? Well, I wasn't going to since this was supposed to be my Halloween entry, and I thought 1. It wasn't getting an enough reviews, and 2. I missed my window of opportunity once October ended. Yet, with enough encouragement (you know who you are!) I decided to continue this because who _wouldn't _like to see vampire!Chuck?

If you haven't read the first four chapters, I suggest you do. This story was written before season 5 started, so it's AU. I'd like to thank **Aerox **for helping me as always, mostly reading over this chapter to make sure I didn't go overboard. Because ohmygod if this was rated M.

Please review, this is Chuck's last week after all. Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

* * *

><p>Someone gives my shoulder a few shakes, and I open my eyes with great reluctance. Apparently I've fallen asleep in Castle. I am slouched over in a straight-back chair, my face resting on the tabletop. I feel groggy and ache all over. Morgan sits on the other side, leaning back in his seat; head angled up in an awkward manner with his mouth parted as he snores nosily. I turn to look at my right and find Casey standing with arms folded across his broad chest. His tired blue eyes fixed upon me. I get the sense he's been awake for quite some time.<p>

"You should go home," he tells me. "I'll stay here with Grimes and we'll look after Chuck while you get some rest."

I quickly sit upright. Unable to anticipate the disorientation that follows, my vision blurs and I feel lightheaded. "I'm fine," I insist. "I won't leave him, Casey. Not in his current condition."

He sighs. "I know, but it was worth a try."

"How long was I out for?"

"For awhile, it's just after noon." Casey replies gruffly. "You didn't miss much. Ellie left as soon as you and the Intersect over here," he indicates an unconscious Morgan, "dozed off. She said she'd be back later this evening to run more tests and figure this whole _vampire _mess out."

"What about Chuck?" I ask, ignoring the contempt weighing in Casey's countenance. He's obviously not a fan of vampires. "Have you been monitoring him at all?"

He grunts. "Unfortunately."

I frown. "Why unfortunately? What happened? Is he alright?"

"He doesn't sleep." With my confusion evident, he goes on to explain. "He's been the same spot for hours, doesn't move an inch. Sometimes he starts talking to himself, mumbling like a schizoid."

"Could you read his lips and figure out what he was saying?"

"He kept repeating the same phrase."

I narrow my eyes, my patience waning at his vague answers. "Which was?"

"_I'm hungry, Sarah_," he recites. "Just that sentence, over and over again. He's literally begging for it like some kind of junkie."

My wrist throbs at the thought of him feeding again. Possibly on me this time if he'll allow it. I shiver, but it's not an unpleasant feeling. "We'll need to give him his next blood fix soon or else his health will deteriorate like Ellie said."

"That'd be fine and dandy if we had any blood packs left to spare," remarks Casey. "Unless you can change his mind about letting him drink yours, he'll have to wait for an alternative option."

I nod and rise to my feet. Glancing over my shoulder, I see that the 24 hour surveillance has been initiated. The television monitor displays the isolated feeds from Chuck's cell. He's sitting on the floor with fingers laced around his knees. His head is bowed; chin resting on his chest. Even without a clear look at his face, I can feel his desperation.

"Somehow I doubt that Chuck will be all that opposed to the idea of a donor," I whisper. I give Casey a sidelong glance. He's watching the feed with a blank expression. "Give me five minutes alone with him. If any complications arise, you know what to do."

He knows what I am alluding to. Dead Man's blood isn't just a myth. It's the only way we've found for how to temporarily stop a vampire. Morgan had done the research on the flight home, and I recall Ellie verifying the authenticity before I had passed out. If Chuck becomes too dangerous, Casey will inject him with a syringe filled with the essence of the dead. In theory, it should act as a sedative and paralyze Chuck.

With a final glimpse at the monitor, I stretch out my sore limbs and begin walking towards the corridor that will lead me to Chuck. I can feel Casey's gaze lingering on me as I go.

"Watch yourself, Walker." He warns.

I manage to acknowledge him with a tiny nod. Then I finally cross the threshold and descend further into the depths of the dimly lit hallway.

* * *

><p>I eventually arrive at the detaining room. My finger hovers above the keypad, ready to input the password that will unlock the door. I hesitate for a moment or two; staring through the transparent glass, ogling at Chuck like he's some kind of a sideshow freak. A wild animal imprisoned in its cage.<p>

But then I remember that he put himself there. He did this to protect us. I know he had left with the intention to sleep, but apparently vampires have lost that ability. He's wide awake and restless. From where I'm standing, I can see him trembling. Like a nervous, uncontrollable tic.

I blindly enter the correct sequence of numbers. The door clicks, sliding ajar. Chuck perks up at once, lifting his gaze as I approach him with the clicks of my stilettos echoing throughout the chamber.

Chuck and I make eye contact and he's already searching for a means to escape. He scrambles into a corner with a surprising lack of grace considering _what _he is. He's petrified of me. Or petrified of what he may do if I get too close.

He stammers. "W—what do you want? Why, w—why are you here?"

It saddens me to see him like this. His voice is shaking with fear while his demeanor screams hostility. It's deeply unsettling, which is why I keep my distance. But then I remember that this is Chuck. Chuck Bartowski. My husband for god's sake! And so despite my instincts telling me to run, I remain put.

"I came to see how you're doing," I reply sincerely. "It looked like you could use the company."

"No," he mutters under his breath. "No, I don't need company. I need to be alone."

"Do you want me to leave then?" I ask, hanging by the door. "Because I will, just say the word. I'll go."

Chuck suddenly looks terrified. He leaps off the floor and to his feet, grabbing my hand to pull me inside the cell. The force in which he yanks my arm feels like it popped out of place. I hiss, losing my balance to only fall straight into his awaiting embrace.

He begins petting my hair at once. I don't try to move, afraid that if I struggle, it might provoke his violent streak. "Please don't leave me, Sarah," he mumbles. "Don't leave. I—I was being stupid. Of course I need you. Just stay here. Stay with me."

His mood changes at the drop of a hat. He's manic, depressed or insanely aggressive. Chuck's always been a little bit strange. But this goes far beyond his usual neuroticism. They're all symptoms of his transformation since first being turned. For one, his body is ice cold. He's also much stronger. Evident by how I can hardly breathe with the effort he's put into this hug. I don't think he realizes that I'm practically suffocating.

I gasp. "Chuck…it's alright. I'm here now…so there's no…reason to apologize."

His grip grows lax and he releases me. I collapse onto the bench and pant bated breaths while he watches on, expression indiscernible.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks.

"It's fine," I say. "I'm fine. I just didn't anticipate that at all."

Chuck looks guilty. "I guess I don't know my own strength."

"Again, it's ok," I smile for his benefit. "So other than the obvious, how are you feeling?"

Chuck averts his crimson gaze like he's ashamed of what he's about to tell me. I know that he's hungry, and it must be incredibly difficult to have me so near to him when it's my scent and my blood that drives him to the brink. I wonder how he'd react if I suggest he feeds off me. Last time he was appalled by the idea. Maybe he won't be so resistant this time.

He can't afford to say no. So I won't give him a chance to.

Slowly, I draw the combat knife that I keep hidden in my jean pocket, and unsheathe it. Chuck's highly tuned senses catches the metallic sound, but he's too late to prevent me from taking the sharp edge to my wrist. I draw the tip across the bandages, wincing when fresh blood spills from the reopened wound.

I glance up and find Chuck watching the blood ooze like he's lost in a hypnotic trance. His tongue pokes out of his mouth, licking his lips with need. "Sarah, you're making a big mistake and…." He trails off, a guttural rumbling in his throat taking over.

"I'm trying to keep you alive," I say with my arm stretched out before him. "Now, go ahead. Do it, drink."

"But I can't," he whines. "I'll kill you by accident!"

I practically throw my bleeding wrist at his face. I hold it steady; hovering below his twitching nose and salivating mouth.

"Drink," I say again.

What's left of his self-control is abandoned, and Chuck clamps my wrist to his mouth. His vice-like grip squeezes to encourage the flow of blood. He takes several gulps of it causing me to give little gasps of shock every time his fangs would scrape across my flesh.

Hopefully none of this will alert Casey to break us apart. He's watching this unfold via the surveillance tapes and I can almost picture his look of revulsion, and fear at what he's witnessing. But until Chuck tries tearing off my arm in his frenzy, intervention will not be needed.

I feel myself cringe when Chuck attaches himself to me like a barnacle. He begins sucking harder, groaning as he presses against me. The loss of blood leaves me dizzy and he takes advantage of this by forcing me onto my back to where I lay flat across the bench. He looms over me, never parting ways with my arm which hangs limp in his grasp.

Darkness creeps in the outer edges of my vision and I feel my consciousness start to fade. In a daze, a moan unexpectedly escapes from the back of my throat. I hear Chuck growling, provoked by my delight and I fear that he'll keep drinking until I'm left bloodless. But then incredibly enough, he tears his lips from my gaping wound and stares me down with his lustful gaze.

I lay beneath him breathing heavily, wondering why he stopped. Our current position is peculiar. It's normally one we use when making love and nothing else. The thundering of footsteps causes for the awkwardness to intensify. Chuck turns his attention from me towards the cell's doorway. His expression turns into embarrassment.

I am afraid to look.

"Oh wow…" says the voice of a stunned Morgan. "Casey, man, you woke me up for _this_?"

Casey grunts then snaps at Chuck and I. "You two, get cleaned up."

I keep my eyes trained on Chuck, whose glaring daggers at Casey and probably Morgan too. He's none too pleased at them barging in on us. His fangs protrude out from the roof of his mouth and he looks decidedly frightening. Which is why I am beyond confused as to how I can find it to be the most erotic thing I've ever seen.

"Chuck could please get off of me? " I ask a bit uneasily.

It's impossible to maneuver around him. Not when he has me pinned down with most of his weight; immobile and too strong for me to move on my own. It's moments like these where I wish I could still flip him over with my spy prowess. It used to be enough. When he was, you know, human.

"Tell them to leave," he growls dangerously. "Or else…"

"You can't be serious, Chuck," I say exasperatedly. "You'd really threaten them? They're your friends!" But he's poised like a guard dog refusing to budge. I sigh, looking towards my left to see my incredulity matched by Morgan and Casey. "Can we have a few moments?"

Casey appears disgusted and mutters, "Be my guest," as he walks off. This leaves Morgan still frozen in place, staring at his best friend with sad eyes.

"Dude," is all he can manage before shaking his head and following after Casey down the hallway.

It's quiet after they leave. Then Chuck exhales rather loudly. He proceeds to crawl off me, drenched in blood both old and new. I finally push myself upright while making sure to be extra careful with my wrist. I use my uninjured arm to place a comforting hand on the nape of his neck.

"Let's get you cleaned up," I say. "You'll feel better after, I promise."

Chuck leans against me and whispers, "I'm scared."

I absently comb my fingers through his hair, and realize its best not to comment. I know why he's afraid. What he's afraid of. He shares the same fears as the rest of us. What will happen if we cannot reverse this?

* * *

><p>Chuck takes a shower alone. He made it clear that he didn't want me to join him, and I respect his wishes. While he's busy scrubbing away the blood, grime, and who knows what else, I wait outside of Castle's washroom for him to finish.<p>

He takes awhile.

I glance at my phone. Twenty minutes have come and gone since Chuck left my sight. When I used to be Chuck's handler, I had become familiar with most of his habits. I know for a fact that his showers go for about half the time. Unless he's been distracted, then of course circumstances change.

No, something is definitely wrong.

"Chuck?"

When there's no response other than the constant running of water, I put my foot in the door, nudging it ajar. I poke my head inside and see nothing but steam.

"Honey, are you ok in there?" I holler.

I wait and listen, but Chuck doesn't answer. The silence is complete. The only noise in the bathroom is the sobbing that comes from within. Assuming the worst, I slip inside without the slightest hesitation.

There's blood. Tons of it, dyeing the tiled floors a dark red color and I almost lose my footing because of how slick it is. I try to convince myself that the blood is what Chuck had been washing off. But then I inhale and my nose burns from the smell. I gag, covering my mouth.

I come to an abrupt stop when most of the steam dissipates. The room is clear and I find Chuck standing over by the sink. He's half naked with a towel wrapped around his waist. He stares at the mirror with his face stricken by bloody tears. Cautiously advancing forward, I note that the mirror has a long, spider web crack across its surface.

He broke it.

My foot steps on a shard of glass. It shatters beneath my heels, making a horrible sound. Chuck doesn't turn like I imagined him too. He's too focused by what he sees in the mirror to pay notice. Or so I think.

"Don't come any closer," he whispers voice hoarse from crying. "Please, Sarah. Just turn around and leave."

_Not this again, _I think. I am getting frustrated by his frequent mood swings. "I'm not going to leave. You're my husband, Chuck. You need help and I'm staying right here to make sure you get exactly that."

"You can't help me. No one can."

"You need to stay calm," I advise. "Stay calm and stop overreacting. We've been in plenty of difficult situations. This isn't any different."

He chuckles bitterly.

I raise a brow. "What? What's so funny?"

Chuck extends a hand out towards me. I regard him, confused. "Come here," he says.

Curious, I take him up on his offer. He gently takes my hand and guides me towards him. I find myself pressed against him, my shirt soaked by his bare chest. He feels like ice even after a hot shower. Yet his heartbeat pounds on and I listen to its steady, vigorous rhythm.

"Now look," he tells me.

I do what he says. I look at the mirror. I expect to find our fogged up reflections staring back at us. Instead I am only half right. While I do see me—and I look terrible—there is no sign of Chuck.

"You have no reflection," I murmur.

He nods. "I have no soul."

I want to slap him for saying that, but I don't have the strength. "Yes you do," I reply. My palm rests on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart. "You're not dead."

"Not yet."

"Why are you acting like this?" I ask angrily.

"Acting like what?"

"Like you're giving up!"

Chuck is quiet. I glare at him before pushing away. He watches as I turn my back to him and leave so that he can wallow alone in his misery.

When I reach the door, he shouts. "It's not fair!"

I whirl around, eyes narrowed. "What's not fair?"

"Why am I always the one being punished?"

"You're not."

"It was a freak accident. Nobody saw it coming. But since I was the one who was attacked, I have to suffer."

I lose my patience and lash out. "We're doing our best, Chuck! All we want is to keep you safe!"

"What if keeping me safe is what gets the rest of you killed?" he asks. "The longer I stay down here, cooped up living off of month-old blood, the more likely it is that I will snap. Do you really want that?"

"So what do you propose we do then?" I yell. "Let you out on the public? You won't be able to control yourself! It's a lose, lose situation no matter how you look at it. All you can do is tough it out. Hope for the best."

"I just want…" he sighs. "I just want to feel normal again. Can't you please, please let me go outside? You'll be there to babysit me the entire time, and I promise I won't be bad. Just for a few hours?"

Chuck stares pleadingly at me. His red gaze seemingly replaced by his lovely brown eyes. He smiles. No fangs. His skin is bronze from his California tan. For that instant, he is human.

But this is a ruse. I know it is. A cruel vampire trick used to manipulate me. It's almost worked twice before, and Chuck must be a firm believer of third time's a charm.

I hate this.

"You can't fool me," I tell him. "So quit it."

He's pissed. "Why are you so stubborn?"

"I can ask you the same question."

"I'm asking you for a favor," says Chuck. He steps towards me as I arbitrarily inch backwards. "I want to go outside. Is that too much to ask of my wife? Or do I have to give you more incentive to see things my way?"

I slam into the door. My eyelids grow heavy the longer I stare at Chuck, falling victim to his hypnotic gaze. Dammit. It's working. I feel strangely giddy, aroused and spiteful all at once.

Chuck smiles once realizing that he's won. I lose all control when he grabs me roughly by the hips, brushing his lips across my ear as he holds me steady. A little ripple of madness goes through me when I suddenly grab his towel and pull down. It unravels and all of him pushes against me.

"I'll get you back for this," I say and giggle like I'm drugged. Essentially I am. "I swear I will kick your undead ass."

"I'm looking forward to it."

I never figure out if Chuck was joking about that. Because before I can ask, his mouth is on mine and the ability to comprehend is lost. I taste my blood on his breath, and a wave of dark delight carries me out to sea.

Whatever happens after that is a mystery.

* * *

><p><strong>An: <strong>Trust me, it was _not _a mystery. So, did I go overboard? I know, I know that Chuck was acting like he has a bad case of bipolar disorder. But he sorta does. He's freaking out and his hormones are all over the place trying to adapt and maintain a new homeostasis with this virus ravaging his body. So naturally, he'll be out of whack. That and his primal self will be more inclined to take control.

There's about three chapters left at most. Gotta wrap this up so I can concentrate on **There & Back Again **and **Redeeming Intentions **[insert shameless promotion here]. Next update will include: Chuck gets his play date outside. Team Bartowski figures a way to cure Chuck by locating that Vampiress that turned him. The big question is, does Chuck even want to be saved?

Dun, dun dunnnn!


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